


his last gift

by Auredosa



Category: Faith (Airdorf Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27063577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa
Summary: When he finally got released from Yale, the first thing John did was ask Father Garcia to meet him at the cemetery.
Relationships: Father Allred & Father Garcia, John Ward & Father Garcia, John Ward & Karen Ward
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We all forgot about Father Allred. I hope we get more of him in Chapter 3. Enjoy!

Rogelio had only seen Father Ward around once or twice before . . . the incident.

He was 28 years old, full of spunk and promise. Adrien made such a humble show of showing him off. The first thing he noticed about John was his altruism, or maybe that was the optimist in Garcia talking. He was the first to show up on Sundays, and always the last to leave. That was how you earned the respect of your elders, he supposed: employing your manners and making yourself as small as possible.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. John was proud of his faith and his community. He didn’t care that he’d been stationed in a tiny church in the middle of nowhere in Connecticut. Garcia wasn’t surprised by John’s mild-mannered nature; he hailed from Palmyra, after all, and moved into Karen’s home in Sterling when, as Adrien had told him over some beers once, they got married the week prior to John’s ordination.

For all his naivety, John fit right in their quiet town. He had a wife, a community that welcomed them with open arms, and a new life in Christ ahead of him. He carried himself with confidence and always kept his head up.

The sputter of tires on mud snapped him out of his thoughts. An amber brown El Camino pulled into the cemetery parking lot, sending dirt and gravel into the drenched flowerbeds lining the driveway. Garcia squinted at the bright headlights. He didn’t recognize the car. Was that Karen in the driver’s seat? Goodness, was John unable to drive? He pursed his lips and watched the Wards step out onto the pavement.

John had never looked so small before.

“John, Karen, good to see you,” Garcia began, immediately holding out a spare black umbrella for them to use. Mrs. Ward’s hair hung damply over her shoulders. She forced a smile and quietly thanked him, opening it over their heads. She tucked her spare thumb through her belt loop, keeping pace beside her husband. John curtly nodded to him in respect.

“Father Garcia, and you,” he replied hollowly. _Dios mio,_ what happened to him? Heavy bags hung under his dull eyes. There were more lines around his brows and mouth than Garcia recalled. His coat hung loosely over his body, as if he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. He shrunk into himself, trailing slightly behind Garcia. Huh. He had expected a barrage of questions. Instead, John kept his head down, taking long, heavy steps.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here for the service,” Garcia said, walking them down the path. “We all missed you terribly. It’s good that they let you go very quickly, no?”

“It’s fine. Karen gave me the gist of it; we sent each other letters.” John muttered. “They were very nice over there at Yale.” He sounded far off, in a different place. Karen took his hand in hers as they were led to the newest plot in the graveyard.

Garcia tried not to glance behind him. He was right there alongside John: scared, shaken, and discouraged. And yet, there was still so much distance between them, so many gaps left to fill. Part of him wanted to be angry. John got to spend the last month in a drug-fueled psychosis left alone in a room to his own devices; Garcia had to stay awake through the nightmare. He wanted to drag him inside and tell him everything that happened that day: the ambulance and police sirens, the rushed funeral preparations, all in the name of trying to lay a friend to rest. _His_ friend.

As for John, he’d heard so many different stories, each one more horrifying than the last. Three people died, the girl wound up in a mental asylum, and John got caught in the middle of all of it. The police said _he_ strangled Adrien because there was no way a teenager could have done it. They called him insane-who could turn against their mentor like that? Some newspaper even reported that John was never a member of the clergy to begin with. Everything was laid out on the table. At least now there was nothing else to hide between them.

He would’ve thanked Adrien for bringing them together.

Why did it have to be under such unfortunate circumstances?

The closer he got, the more his steps seemed to sink into the ground. Maybe those unholy evils were real, and they were trying to drag him down with them. The grave stood out on the murky, green grass, a sliver of the moon that fell from heaven and crashed on Earth.

It still hurt to look at. He was such a good man, how could he be dead? What did he deserve to be killed so cruelly? The anger was _here_ , clenched around the handle of his umbrella. This was bigger than John, bigger than some girl and her dogmatic parents because at the end of the day, _someone_ let it happen. God, why, _why_ did you let this happen?

Suddenly, the grave appeared in front of him, and his vengeance dissolved.

Yes . . . that was right. Adrien was gone.

Garcia slacked his jaw and let out a deep sigh. He didn’t have the will to argue against his maker anymore. Slowly, he pushed the thoughts down, shoving them into the deepest recesses of his mind for another day. Right now, he had to be strong-for the church, for Karen, and for John.

He stopped them at the smoothly polished headstone. The potted pink carnations placed there a month ago were wilted and flooded by rainwater. Etched into the granite were the words:

_IN LOVING MEMORY OF ADRIEN JAMES ALLRED_

_5/31/35 – 9/21/86_

_Do not let your heart be troubled, but trust in me, you know the place I am going._

John was gazing up at the sky. Rain fell on his sunken face and ran down his chin. His mouth was held in a tight line. Karen squeezed his palm tighter, holding back tears. She had to go through this herself, a few weeks ago. It hadn’t gotten any easier for her, Garcia guessed. This entire month was the most time they’d spent together since John came along. She had it as bad as him, now that he thought about it. Constant requests for interviews from the press, ugly glances from everyone at service, a few pitying ones in between, all while trying to hold her husband together across letters that only could only be sent once per week.

After a moment of silence, John turned Karen and whispered something Garcia couldn’t hear. Karen hummed, and gave Garcia another solidary look of sympathy, then, she turned to walk back to her car.

They were alone, standing at the old man’s final resting place.

“I . . . I am sorry for your loss, John. I know you two had a lot of history.”

“He officiated my wedding . . . he was there for my ordination. He was the first person to welcome me to Sterling.” John listed, gaze drifting back to the tombstone.

“Did he have a will? Any-“ he sniffled quickly, “any last wishes?”

“His savings went to the church, and his vestments will be donated to a missionary in Rhode Island. He wanted his life to be a frugal one, even in death.” Anxiety in his throat, Garcia reached into his pocket.

“He did, however, leave _this_ for you.”

John’s eyes widened. Garcia’s held out Father Allred’s final gift: an ornate golden crucifix.

John had seen that crucifix before.

Garcia watched him bite and tighten his lips in conflict. Drops of water pelted on the metal and ran down his wrist. It didn’t seem like such a nice gift anymore.

“This was his,” he stated, grasping it carefully. “But why? I already have my own.”

“He said he wanted you to have a proper one . . . so you could take up his place,” Garcia slowly explained. Watch your words, don’t tell him all of it, he kept thinking. Don’t tell him that you found it chipped at the edges and covered in blood, or that there was never a will in the first place. Don’t tell him about the letter that instructed you to take up Allred’s spot himself and never let John back into a church ever again. Don’t send him over the edge.

“You are more than capable, John,” Garcia said in the most solemn voice he could manage. “He was more convinced than I can say.” The best he could do was hope Adrien would have said it himself. “

John was silent. He blinked down at the cross.

“. . . Those were his words, not mine.”

Garcia’s heart dropped. He was afraid John would say that.

“I-I don’t think I’m ready for this, Father,” he stammered. “Not now-“

He choked on his own spit, and covered his face, letting the smell of petrichor and upturned earth fill his head. Father Garcia winced, guilt crawling up his stomach. It was his fault John was suffering right now- _mierda!_ He should have never taken anything from that godforsaken house. He should’ve done something to get John out of Yale for the funeral. John hadn’t talked to anyone but four walls and his wife for the past month. He must have been so alone. He was just trying to do what Allred would have wanted, and it fell apart at his feet and it was all his fault.

Should he apologize again? Or just walk away?

No, he thought. Make this right. Do what Adrian would have wanted.

He wrapped his arms around John and pulled him into a rough embrace. John was still for an instant. Then, he crumbled underneath him, burying his sobs in folds of his jacket. Swears escaped under his breath. Garcia held him tight, and kept gently brushing circles across his back, as if he were comforting a child.

“I miss him,” John said softly. “I miss him so much.”

He knew how it hurt.

“I do, too.”

And some day, he’d find the words to make him understand.

“God, I’m sorry, Father, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Thank you for meeting me here, for everything, really.”

But not today.

“You would do the same for all of us,” Garcia responded. “We must hold steady. _Sé fuerte_ , be strong.”

John gripped the crucifix to his chest, holding on to Father Garcia for a few seconds more. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the epitaph on the tombstone. Below the bible verse, in faint dented characters, was where exactly it had come from.

_John 14: 1, 4_

It was almost like Father Allred was talking to him, telling him to press on, to have faith.

Next to him, Garcia reread the verse over, and over again. _I_ know _where you’re going,_ viejo amigo _. I know you’ll be safe in heaven above, but what about us?_ _Will He be with us, too? Will . . ._ you _be with us, too?_

John let go, steadying himself on the small hill. He considered the gilded crucifix one more time, and breathed out at last, standing tall, with Garcia’s hand on his soaked shoulder.

“I’ll try.”

 _So will I,_ Garcia thought _, so will I._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two lost souls find each other in a different time, a different place.

He’d been waiting for so long.

The empty house was just as clean and tidy as it was when he first came there. Too clean, in fact. Nobody had been there for months. It was quiet. He couldn’t leave, either. When he pulled back the curtains, it just looked white, as if a fog had settled on the hill and refused to leave. All the doors and windows were locked. He was stuck here, chained to this house until something, somebody came.

In the attic, a window shattered, followed by a thud somewhere off in the trees.

His first instinct was run away, to try the front door. It was unlocked, to his delight, and he threw the door open and took a deep breath of fresh air for the first time in forever. Pine and wood smoke filled his lungs. But he wasn’t afraid. There was no danger in these woods, he knew that for a fact. Instead, there was something calling him, willing him from deep inside to go out and find where that _thing_ had gotten to. And beneath it . . . something hopeful.

“Hello?”

A girl’s voice. There was something vaguely familiar about it.

“Mom? Dad? Is there anyone there?”

He broke into a sprint, heart beating in his throat. Lord above, could it be?

He came to a stop at a clearing just down the path. There was a tall pine tree, bigger than the house and as green as could be. Standing at the base of trunk was a teenage girl with long black hair, wearing a purple dress.

“Amy?”

She turned to him, wracked with fear and confusion. Then, her face lit up and he ran into his arms, a grateful smile on her face.

“Father Allred!”

She ran into his arms, tears streaming down her face. It’s her, it’s _her_ , Allred thought, hugging her as tight as he could. She’s okay, she’s alright. How was this possible?

“You’re okay . . . you’re safe now,” he hushed, hands shaking. “Thank the Lord, you’re alright.”

“I feel . . . I feel like myself again. Where are my parents? Where is Father Ward? Where are we?” She asked, looking up at him.

Allred’s heart sunk again.

“Oh, Amy . . .”

She understood at once, diverting her gaze back to the ground.

“This . . . this must be . . . We’re, oh, no-“ Her face fell. Memories of what happened one year ago flashed behind her eyes.

“Father Allred, I’m so sorry. You’re here-you’re here because I-“ She ripped away from him, and glared in the direction of her old home. Allred grasped her hands and looked straight at her.

“Listen here, Amy. You were not yourself that day. I know you didn’t want to hurt me, or John, or your parents. You were just scared. None of this is your fault. You should have never, ever gotten pulled into this.” He pulled her into another hug and let her cry, until the shaking stopped and she was able to speak again.

“Okay,” she sniffled, “okay.” She took a deep, steadying breath, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wondering what to do next.

“Father, can . . . can we leave? There’s nothing left for me here. I think . . .” She glanced back at her house.

“Me too,” Allred responded, nodding in understanding. It was time for them to go. Around them, the fog finally began to lift.

He could see something at the end of the road leading away from the house. Allred put one hand on Amy’s shoulder, and took once last look back at the shattered attic window through the trees.

They started walking toward the light, and left the Martin house behind them.


End file.
